A Real Greek Tragedy
by MySecondAccount
Summary: My Greek chorus kneels beside my bed, watching me worriedly, because this is a tragedy. Not a break-up. Not a fashion disaster. Not even a broken nail on your way out of the salon. Elle Woods, with her make-up smeared, her eyes red, her beautiful clothes torn and filthy. Did I really expect Professor "Blood in the Water" Callahan to back off after one slap?


**A Greek Tragedy**

I shouldn't have slapped him. Pushed away, yes. Run away, definitely. But slapped him? No, that was a bad idea, possibly my worst idea ever, and I've had a lot of bad ideas, in my life. I mean, I _am_ Elle Woods, the girl who chased a guy who treated me like trash all the way to Harvard.

This runs through my head in an instant as Callahan turns red, like that awful lipstick I talked Pilar out of buying, last year. The color is just as ghastly painted across his forehead.

"You slapped me," he says. His eyes are cold.

My voice is a squeak. "I…"

He grabs my side and forces me towards him, kissing me again. This isn't like the first time.

I didn't enjoy that one, either, but at least he wanted me to. Now, his lips smash against mine, his tongue leaps down my throat. One hand grips the back of my head so that I can't move away. He's mussing up my hair, I think, because it's easier than thinking about where his other hand is. Squeezing my breasts, my sides, my hips, my ass. Pushing up my skirt.

"No," I whimper, but Callahan doesn't believe in the word "no," and he's never put much stock in morality.

I've foregone the gym for studying, these past few months, and I wasn't that strong to begin with. I can't stop Callahan as his body pushes me onto the desk. The desk's wood digs into my shoulder, and _his_ is pressed against my thigh. I'm crying, now, and I can taste my mascara when he forces my mouth open for another kiss. His hand crawls under my panties.

"Please," I cry, "please stop…"

There's a knock at the door.

Callahan pauses, lifting himself slightly off me.

"Your coffee?" Warren calls through the door.

He clears his throat. "Leave-"

I slam my body upwards, knocking him off the desk. He's winded, and I think he landed on the pointy end of my lost high-heel. I'm already scrambling for the door before he's recovered. I yank it open and stumble through.

"Elle?" Warren says, surprised and confused. Maybe even concerned.

I don't respond. It's like Callahan's tongue is still in my throat, choking me. I run away and don't begin to slow down until I'm in my dorm room with the shades drawn and the door locked. Safe.

I fall onto my bed, exhausted and embarrassed. I feel _dirty_. Not dirty like the thrilling, taboo-breaking dirty that Warren used to call me after we did it under the bleachers. Dirty like filth sticking to my hips, tangled in my hair, and coating my breasts. And it's stupid, ridiculous, so stereotypically blonde of me to think I'm dirty because of something some _man_ did. Enid would revoke my sisterhood card, if she heard me thinking like that.

I giggle, the sound cracked and a little broken. My Greek chorus kneels beside my bed, watching me worriedly, because _this_ is a tragedy. Not a break-up. Not a fashion disaster. Not even a broken nail on your way out of the salon. This. Elle Woods with her make-up smeared, her eyes red, her beautiful clothes torn and _filthy._

Serena sighs. "Oh, sweetie, he's the filthy one."

Which doesn't help because he touched me everywhere. I want to wash him off, but going to the showers means leaving my room. It means holding in tears, at least until I can hide them under the spray. It means stripping in a communal bathroom that doesn't even have locks, just those little rattling things that can be broken down with a good kick…I feel nauseous.

Margot pouts, pushing up next to Serena. "Okay, remember that one party in freshman year when I didn't come home for hours and you went looking for me?"

"Y-yeah," I murmur.

"Well, remember when you found me and I was unconscious with my dress bunched around my-"

I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut. Serena snaps, "Jesus Christ, Margot, shut up!"

I'm shaking. Well, that or there's an earthquake, but I'm pretty sure the East Coast doesn't have those.

Pilar pokes them both in the shoulder. "You guys are scaring her."

"I'm just trying to say how she was like, totally my rock, and stuff. And it wasn't the end of the world or anything," Margot says.

"I guess it wasn't," I mumble.

Margot beams. "Besides, it's not like he actually went all the way. So that's good, right?"

Pilar shoves Margot aside. "I know you're trying really hard, Margot, but you need to stop talking, like, yesterday."

She turns to me, dark eyes full of compassion. "Look, Elle, honey, we're really worried about you, okay? But we're obviously awful at this whole comforting thing…um, maybe you should call the _real_ us? They might be better."

"No. I can't. I-I…"

"Or not," she says quickly. "That's totally fine, too. We'll keep you company."

They do. At least, until someone pounds on the door.

My heart stops and doesn't start beating again until a familiar voice yells.

"Elle?"

It's only Emmett.

"Elle, are you okay? Elle? Elle, please say something. Elle?!"

It's only a totally frantic, panicking Emmett…which, under the circumstances, seems pretty reasonable. I don't answer because, honestly, I have no idea what to say. I'd rather hide, like I always do when something goes wrong.

There's a slight rattling, and the door opens. Oh, yeah, I guess I did give him my extra key, a couple months ago. He was coming around so often that it seemed silly not to.

"Elle." The word sounds like a sigh. He stands in the doorway, still in the gorgeous suit I bought him. He takes a step inside, and two more steps when it doesn't seem like I'm going to start freaking out.

"Hi, Emmett," I say, and I'm proud of how normal it sounds. Dreary, maybe, sort of like how Vivienne sounds all the time, but it doesn't crack. If my eyes weren't a mess, my hair hanging in tangles around my face, a button missing from my navy suit, maybe he wouldn't have looked so totally pitying.

"Elle, are you okay?" he says, all in a rush.

I want to say "Yes," clear and perky. I want to smile and laugh and pretend everything's okay. If I can't hide from a problem, then I can at least pretend it doesn't exist. Maybe, that way, it won't.

"I…"

Except that I can't. I can't pretend that I'm okay. Not with Emmett watching. He's the guy who gave me advice on my first day. He's the guy who saw me in a bunny suit and draped his jacket over my shoulders. He tutored me in every class, even on holidays. He's sort of my best friend…Scratch that. He's totally my best friend, and I don't want to lie to him.

"…no. C-could you close the door?"

"Yeah, sure, anything," he says, shutting it. A part of me is freaking out at the thought of being alone, in a room, with a guy, but I tell that part to shut its stupid face. I bunch my neon pink comforter inside my fists so they'll stop shaking so much.

He carefully sits on the desk chair, frowning. My eyes bounce between him and the door. He leans forward and says, "Don't worry. Callahan's in the hospital, right now."

" _What_?" I gasp.

"Warren beat him up," – Emmett snorts – "I'm starting to think he's a better guy than I gave him credit for."

My voice is soft. "Oh. Is Ca…Is he okay?"

Please say no. Please say no. Please…

"I don't know."

I pause. "Is Warren okay?"

"Physically, yeah, but he's been arrested for assault."

My eyes well up. "Oh, god, this is gonna ruin his chances for being senator, and it'll be all my fault…"

Emmett's makes eye contact. His voice is firm. "This is not your fault, Elle. None of this is your fault. Besides, you know Warren. He'll probably defend himself, charm the pants off the judge, and walk away scot free."

"Yeah…"

After a few moments of silence, he continues, "Vivienne called me. She told me what happened…well, what she knew about what happened. It had been hours and no one had seen you. I can't believe you've been here all alone."

Now doesn't seem like a very good time to mention my hallucinatory Greek chorus.

I think my silence is scaring him because he just keeps talking faster. "I'm here for you, you know, and I'm not leaving until you want me to. Seriously, I'll camp out in the hallway and keep you safe, if you want. I'll do whatever you ask until you're okay, and afterwards, too. Just…Elle, you're the best thing about this place. _Please_ be okay."

I throw myself forward, clinging to him. For a moment, I'm certain he's going to topple off the chair, and, for the second time today, I'll land hard against the floor. To my relief, Emmett catches his balance. He tentatively settles his arms around me.

"It's alright," he murmurs.

And, just for a minute, I believe him.


End file.
